


Belnades și Belmont

by EnchiladaVerde



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnchiladaVerde/pseuds/EnchiladaVerde
Summary: The legend of the sleeping soldier, the hunter, and the scholar of magic ends on a hill at sunset. However, the tale of Belnades and Belmont is forged in cobbled roads and nights under the stars.
Relationships: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Belnades și Belmont

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the Trepha ship so much. It's unfair that there are so few stories about them. I just wanted to fill the gap a little bit. I hope you enjoy reading.

Sighișoara is not, and by far, one of the nicest cities to visit in winter. The mountains around the city are the highest and harshest of all Wallachia. Sun dies quite early and the wind hits up to the top of the trees with a howl, threatening to pull their roots up. Roads are fairly erratic as they fade in a cloak of snow.

Only the foolish and lost travelers aim to set foot on those roads deep inside the country. Trevor and Sypha are both. They travel freely as they hunt the hordes of darkness and remain a low profile from the church. However, their supplies empty themselves slowly as the cold burn their noses. They can't go further in their quest as they starve to death in the middle of the woods.

They cross the gates of Sighișoara with no effort at all. Sentinels look at them as they drive, but they have unseen them, way more worried by hunger and the freezing cold to hugs the beginning of the night. People move hectically around in the evening. Businessmen pick their goods and go home as sunlight fades away. Most buildings stand strong and intact, barely touched by the destruction of Dracula's hordes. Downtown looks stunning and the last dying sunshine hits the roofs in the magnificent scenery of peace and wealth.

After a few minutes, their wagon stops in front of a rather small and cozy inn. It's located just close enough to shops and yet, far enough from the church laying on the hills above for them to feel somewhat safe. The bells start to play as soon as night falls, and they carry a lullaby to the room of every citizen in Sighișoara.

Trevor swings to the back of the wagon to retrieve their bags. He hops off in the middle of a puddle of dirt and snow, his feet leaving an imprint in their way forward. Meanwhile, Sypha guides the horses to the security of the stable nearby.

Even outside the inn, the mood already feels warmer as candle lights flicker and the people drinking in the pub aside shout of joy. He walks his way to the lobby and pulls out a bag with coins from his tunic.

A perfume gets shipwrecked in the hall and dances its way to Trevor's nostrils. A perfume that leaves him spellbound as a sailor in the search of a mysterious siren far away on the sea. Lavender, he distinguishes as the main note of the orchestra of smells, perhaps touches of jasmine as a lower note.

A silent silhouette rests on the front table. The lines of her shoulder blades ascend and descend at the rhythm of her breathing while her hands keep her cheeks away from the hardwood below. She drifts off peacefully under his gaze.

Trevor clears his throat.

The ginger woman wakes herself up rather quickly.

Her blue eyes and full lips catch the hunter's attention for a moment. When her gaze meets him, a blush paints her cheeks as her eyes stare down at her feet.

"A room, please," he asks her, leaving a couple of coins on the table.

The young woman bites her lower lip and the shine on her soft skin looks just juicy and delicious. "Second floor, walk to the end of the corridor and turn left," she says, dragging a key to his side. Her fingertips faintly brush his knuckles as Trevor takes the key.

Whatever thought gets cut when he feels a chilly wind against the back of his neck. He acknowledges Sypha's presence on his side. He sees her from the corner of the eye, her hands rubbing in the futile try to warm her up.

"Let's go," he guides her smoothly. 

* * *

The pub is somewhat crowded and filled with a joyful hustle that evening. The stark contrast among the silent streets and the joy inside creates a curtain on the surface of each window of the building.

Trevor comes in, followed close by Sypha. He sets a path among crowded tables while he sends a silent warning to each lewd eye that falls upon Sypha. When they walk rather close a particularly crammed table, a wolfish whistle makes its way to his ears. Before his partner can react, Trevor circles her shoulders with his right arm and brings her closer to him. Her body heat molds perfectly against his chest and he finds himself enjoying the short moment. He even holds back the instinct to sniffle the catching scent of her rose gold hair. 

"Easy, there. It's my wife you're being an ass with," Trevor warns, bringing the scholar closer to him. Not a single one of his words needs to be increasing their volume in the slightest.

Subsequently, he catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. He holds his tunics barely open an inch, revealing the Belmont brooch lying proudly in his chest. A dead silence lingers on the table and Trevor's warning morphs into an ultimatum to whoever wishes to go on. The ghost of a smirk reaches Trevor's lips as he guides Sypha towards the nearest chair to the bartender. Trevor sits first so he allows Sypha to take the last chair on the line table, the place where she wouldn't be bothered by anyone else.

"I didn't ask you to fight for me, I fight for myself," she scoffs. Trevor shrugs, trying his best to not care about it.

"I'm aware you're a badass, Sypha. However, those assholes..." he points with his thumb at his back to emphasize his argument "…wouldn't last even five minutes in a fight against you. Honestly, I don't feel like ruining my good tunic with shitty blood, thank you very much."

"Smart people don't need to bathe in blood to make a man suffer, Trevor," she smirks sardonically.

"This bastard got his ale frozen!" someone yells behind them and loud laughs follow shortly after. The hunter turns his head just enough to witness a pile of yellow slush on the floor, what once was ale. The victim still trying to comprehend what was going on as others laugh at him.

"Sometimes I just don't know whether to fear or admire you, Sypha Belnades." The scholar hits him playfully on an arm as she grins. Her eyes shine like sapphires under the candlelight, putting him under their spell, "Well, you'd be stupid if you fear me not, husband of mine."

Trevor and Sypha often come up with the marriage act to advert disapproval glances in their way. It’s so much more effortless to make people think about what they want, instead of getting unwanted attention. Trevor, however, doesn’t mind the idea of sharing his life with her.

"Careful. I can _accidentally_ burn your dinner and evaporate the alcohol in your beer if you tease me further, Treffy. You know, magic sometimes is so hard to control."

"Don't. Beer is a holy shit or something," he overacts, a hand on his chest as he feigns hurt.

Their eyes meet and they try to hold they laugh a second. They don't. Their lips twist at their corners and they laugh at the very same time.

Trevor wouldn't mind more nights like this, indeed.

* * *

There is no trace of Sypha when Trevor comes back from the bathroom. The table they were just sitting a few minutes ago is almost empty. He looks around, at every corner of the place. Most people are gone and, even when it's more silent than hours before, the hustle stills runs wild. He finally catches a glimpse of small shoe prints that lead him towards the entrance gate. Darkness lies heavily on the outside and the wind crashes against every surface in its way. He sees a small blue dot on the other side of the street, under a dying light.

Trevor sighs and he holds his tunic closer. As he opens the door, cold hits him and actually takes a step behind, to balance himself. His nose freezes when the door closes at his back but does nothing to shield further from the cold. The only goal in his mind is in order to reach the halo of light. His boots make a screeching noise between the cobbled street and mud. A few traces of mud are printed on his trousers and a chilly wind gets trapped under his tunic.

Three blocks after, he sees the silhouette of Sypha drawn on the evanescent landscape. Her shadow dances on the wall behind her with a podgy and tasteless shadow next. He pats his side to retrieve the morning star as his instincts scream murder.

A grotesque man leans against a wall as he takes Sypha's hands. The scene makes Trevor sick. The man’s height is scarcely shorter than a warg's. The scholar looks tiny, hugely shadowed by the man. Her pale and soft hands create a stark contrast with those above her, hairy and scarred all over. Trevor observes him methodically from head to toe. A peg leg and, a knife just an inch above speak louder than words. Trevor wonders whether his ancestors would forgive him for killing a rat with a holy weapon or not.

The ugly man catches a look back at him before he bids a farewell to Sypha. He quickly gets lost in the middle of the gloom of unknown streets. When Sypha finally realizes he's also there, she smiles sweetly, so much, that his heart skips a beat. Trevor hugs her tightly and feels a shiver under his body. He holds his tunic open and offers a hand to Sypha. She gladly takes his hand, trapping it between hers. Trevor shares his body heat meanwhile his thoughts drift elsewhere.

Her icy fingers brush against his and he can no longer remain silent.

"What happened? That fancy guy didn't seem nice. I didn't know you had a peg leg thing," he snaps. He actually didn't mean his words to sound harsh but they did nonetheless.

There's a small jump inside his tunic. He almost regrets cutting their hug short as the seconds go by. However, silence infuriates him and the chill turns into anger.

"That's not your business, Belmont. I don't query anything that you make. I think I deserve the same treatment," she drily answers. Trevor bites his cheeks, in a failing attempt to enclosure his flow of words. Nevertheless, it's far too late.

"I'm sorry for fucking taking care of your pretty ass. I was under the impression we were partners in this travel."

"We are! But I need space from time to time. I don't appreciate you stepping on my privacy!"

"Bullshit Sypha! You make me travel all around fucking Wallachia to have adventures, you drag me into horrible trouble and now we speak of privacy as if you had never stepped on mine, in the first place."

"You know it's good for us both"

"Really? Last time, you said I was your deformed pet bear, remember?" mumbled Trevor.

The hunter knows he is stepping into inhospitable terms of their friendship. The day the legend of the hunter, the scholar, and the sleeping warrior met its end, the legend of Belnades and Belmont was born next. Trevor knows just how sacred that moment is for them both. He knows how much it hurts her every time he doubts her words of that day on a hill in the Belmont home.

"This is ridiculous and we need to stop," she shakes her head. "Do you trust me, Trevor?"

Trevor wants to believe. He knows he can trust her. However, jealously has poisoned his mind. He feels beyond angry and he sees red. He removes his arm from her touch as if the simplest brush of their skin burned him. He hears a breathless gasp and Sypha's composure falls over in a blink.

"I wish I could, but I don't know what the fuck to believe anymore, Sypha."

The speaker stands her ground in the middle of the street, with no words left. The hunter turns his back at her and he walks with no path in mind. She counts his steps every time he moves further and further away. She hopes her spells and intent can bring him back but for the first time in her life, her magic doesn't work. A snowflake falls on her shoulder, other in the top of her nose, next on the palm of her hand as she looks at the gray sky above. It slowly snows on the City and the silhouette of Trevor Belmont fades away in the night like an ethereal winter spirit.

* * *

Sypha uses all her self control to not slam the door shut as soon as she reaches their room. Her magic is scarcely under control and she fears she might burn the sheets with her intent. She breathes in and out a few minutes, with her back against the door until her heartbeat slows down a little bit. She needs a long bath and a little pampering with the essential oils Alucard gave her. She rummages her bag for clean clothes and a couple of bottles before she makes her way to the tub.

The bathroom is fairly simple but comfortable enough to let her relax. Sypha creates a few shards of ice and she melts them over the tub. The water slowly warms and a few towers of steam come up from the tub. She opens the bottles and the smell of essential oils and water creates a spell for relaxation.

It doesn't take long for her sore muscles to start relaxing and she really takes her time to scrub all the dirt from their travels. After a while, her skin gets wrinkled with moisture and she comes out from the tub. The speaker dresses in a humble and soft cotton chemise, as practical as every aspect of her life. She runs her fingers to comb her hair and a few knots stop her way among the roots and the ends. Her rose gold curls touch her shoulders and they leave a trail of moist on her chemise. Perhaps, she should consider cutting her hair soon.

When the last knot has finally subsided, she sits on the bed. The speaker decides to read a lovely book of magic healing and medicinal herbs from the Belmont library. The weight of the book above her hands is reassuring. Her eyes immediately stick to the beautiful writing of the yellowish pages. Time runs rather fast under the beating candlelight and soon minutes turn into hours. When she reaches page four hundred and fifty, her hair is completely dry and the moon shines her silver beauty above in the sky.

* * *

Taverns are always a sanctuary that Trevor Belmont resorts to. God can hate him and screw his existence; people can hate him and punch him in the face; night creatures can hate him and claw their pointy fangs in his throat; he can certainly hate himself and destroy the little bit of life he has. No matter what, beer in a good-sized mug is a relief for all unfortunate things in his existence. One mug to relax sore muscles, two mugs to shut up ghosts of the past and present and, ten mugs to poison the mind deep enough to forget his own name until next morning.

At one point that night, Trevor loses the count of how many times he has asked a refill. His only reference is the fact he still remembers who he is and the smell of dirt and alcohol is so fetid that he feels like throwing up. His elbow slips under his weight and Trevor almost falls to the floor.

The bartender looks at him with disgust. The hunter has been over this misery cycle so many times that his hands already act by themselves. He tosses a coin to the man before taking his leave. The air around makes him realize the stink comes from his very skin and clothes. He groans irritated.

By one miraculous chance, he finds himself in front of their inn. Perhaps, he's not drunk enough and he needs to drink further. His ghosts run freely in every corner of his mind. He drags his feet as his body wobbles with no control, just like some monsters he hunts every day.

He stumbles with a rug in front of the stairs, so he lays his body against a wall to recover his balance. He closes his eyes and breaths heavily while nausea grows in intensity. The hunter hears steps on the distance that synchronize with the ache beating in his temple. Then, a feather touch settles on his chest and explores most of his torso freely.

A lavender perfume approaches his nose and he can almost touch the orchestra of flowers that overwhelms him.

"You're quite handsome, traveler..." an anonymous soprano voice proclaims, "It is chilly tonight. Possibly, would you not mind to share a mellow bed?" she whispers in his ear.

Trevor grumbles something alike to an affirmation in the lowest part of his throat, the vibrations of his own voice resound all over his chest. A chortle answers on the other side as full lips invite themselves to his cheek softly. **_You are wonderful, Sypha_**. He thinks while small hands drag him to oblivion.

They start walking through a narrow corridor. He lets her guide him with her feminine spell that spreads lavender in his clothes and amends his fears.

Next, he knows he falls on a cozy bed. Charming lips traverse his neck and her hands descend far south to the very first bottom of his shirt. Everything is pleasant and relaxing. Everything is awfully perfect until he catches small movements on his hips, next to the weight of the morning star. Suddenly, reality crashes like a broken mirror. The spell is now gone.

A lovely red hair and blue sparkling eyes full of passion meet him. She's so stunning and any other time, he wouldn't think twice to spend the night in her company. Now, he remembers, there's someone he left behind, someone that is probably worrying for his sorry ass, even though he doesn't deserve a thing. **_Shit_**. Trevor shudders and the woman looks down at him with worry.

Trevor puts a hand between them to let her know he needs distance. He stands up clumsily. Nausea returns in full force and now he can actually taste bile upon his throat. He swallows and formulates his flow of words.

"Look... I'm really sorry. You are hot and nice but you deserve better than a one-night thing. This should've never happened," he apologizes in all his drunken sincerity. Trevor walks a few unstable steps towards the door.

"Did I do something unpleasant to make you leave?"

Trevor doesn't need to think twice about the answer, he has known where his loyalty lies in for months. It's so deeply carved in his mind that it is impossible to ignore.

"You aren't _her_."

The door is closed with a dry thud. Behind are left secrets that will be dragged by the wind, not a single word more.

* * *

Sypha is sickly worried and she can no longer focus on her reading. She sighs tiredly and finally sets a ribbon on page five hundred next to a mandrake drawing. The speaker walks from one side of the room to the other, like a caged animal. After a while, she decides to look for Trevor in every single tavern the city has to offer.

She is fishing her shoes under the bed, caught in a spider web when the door opens with a crack and the light from the corridor comes in.

"I was about to search for you," she stands up, proud and straight. Trevor walks past her and he crashes with the walls more than once. He almost drops a painting in his last unsteady steps.

"I'm back, _mom_."

What a nerve. Sypha shuts herself up and chooses to change the subject to relief the tension growing in the air, "The bathtub is filled with hot water, in case you need to clean yourself before sleeping."

"Did you ask hot water for me?" he asks with a caustic smirk upon his lips.

"Don't flatter yourself, Belmont. It's just basic magic."

Trevor whistles with fake amusement while he is thankful deep inside, "Sometimes I forget you are virtuous in magical shit."

The combination of words honestly offends Sypha but she ignores him. She sits on the bed and takes her book. Meanwhile, Trevor rummages his bag and he marches with heavy and noisy steps, making the wood creak under his feet.

Sypha massages her temple, a headache is approaching but at least he is back. She would not have to search for him in the cold nor stop bar fights with alcohol and piss stink.

The words in the book make no sense as her headache finally hits. She puts her book on the night table. Trevor is loudly humming a song from the bathroom and she decides to distract herself from other tasks. His clothes are spread over the floor and the mud of his boots is staining his shirt beyond repair.

In a moment of self-indulgence, she touches his clothes as if they were Trevor's skin below her hand. She stops on the Belmont emblem for the briefest second. Some threads are cut due to their battles, and a gold torrent spreads along with the side stitches.

Perhaps, Trevor would never change his drinking habits. Not even almost facing death in the hands of Dracula more than once seemed enough motivation to improve his life. Apparently, his sadness and the past were just so overwhelming to search for a new purpose.

Sypha list all his defects. A drunken man, bad temper, careless, sarcastic, irresponsible, immature, emotionally damaged... But in the end, she knows she likes him even with those defects. He is the drunken man she decided to be with. For every defect, she could find virtues and a memory that makes her smile with tenderness. She is not angry anymore, she has already forgiven him.

She kisses the shirt on its the left side, the closest one to where his heart would be. She lays her head above the fabric. She would never admit there was some satisfaction in his masculine essence. The speaker breathes in slowly.

All of a sudden, a delicate aroma floods her senses, lavender in his clothes. It's so elegant, feminine, and intricate. Somehow, there's a familiarity in the essence and she struggles to place the face of a possible owner. The speaker recaps their last traveling days. She mostly remembers picturesque landscapes at sunset contrasting among the fetid guts of monsters spread over rocky roads under her feet. She finally decides to give up, tired and spent on their journey.

Sypha makes excuses to amend the heartbreak.

Perfumes can linger in the air and fall on other people in proximity.

 _Not in very specific spots unless the interaction is not a coincidence_.

Maybe, Trevor does own perfume in his multiple items.

 _She has memorized his items and no such thing has space among his dangerous weapons and food reserves_. _Why in the gloomy world would he want something so fragile and expensive?_

Perhaps, a businessman sprayed perfume over Trevor to make a good sale.

_She knows such a perfume isn't sold in cheap places, much less offered to not wealthy-looking travelers._

The speaker feels her eyes starting to water. A knot forms in her throat and her voice is trapped painfully. There is no point in denying hard facts. She is no fool. Sypha holds his shirt tightly, far much force applied that a few wrinkles appear in the fabric along with mud spots.

The air around her drops its temperature. It's nearly freezing. Her intent has gone from angry crimson fire to blue cold sadness as if someone had poured water to an already dying bonfire. She misses her grandfather, his cousin, even the smelly boy with a crush on her. She feels lonely tonight and for the first time, her companion is like a cold spot.

Her hands shake faintly. A layer of frost shines in Trevor's clothes. She doesn't even try to melt the frost; it's pointless when Trevor is so drunk to notice the subtlest of changes.

Sypha leaves his clothes back on the floor. She looks at the Belmont crest for the last time before turning back towards the bed. She is light in her feet like a ghost dancing through the night. She lies next to the window, closes her eyes, and feels the pristine magic descending from the moon.

Shortly after, the speaker hears the clumsiest of rustling coming from the bathroom. His steps are lighter this time as the alcohol loses its effect on him. She feigns a deep sleep as Trevor stops in front of the bed. Sypha can even picture his beautiful face in doubt. He knows he is been difficult and perhaps he will not be welcomed tonight. Meanwhile, the room gets far and far chillier, in part for the lack of heating in the middle of the winter, and in other, for her sadness that lingers freely in the air. Eventually, Trevor takes the other side of the bed and covers himself from the cold, a single layer of cotton sheets separating them.

Sypha does long to turn to his side and kiss him senseless, to kiss him so beautifully to remove the word friendship from his vocabulary. She aches to be more than adventure comrades and rather lovers sharing love oaths on a lonely winter night. She wishes, she hopes for, she is dying to make it happen louder and louder in her thoughts.

In his dreams, Trevor searches for some kind of warmth. He makes his way to her hair and remains there, breathing in and out slowly. It hurts far too much to be fair, not while Morpheus has blessed his sleep instead.

The window is growing frost on the corners. She knows she needs to control her magic before she indeed freezes the whole place. One last tear she allows herself to shed, one last she convinces her mind, and then a restless night begins.

She dreams of lavender perfume.


End file.
